You were pregnant. 5 months to be exact. And John wouldn’t let you lift a bloody finger, always going out to grab you things and making sure you were seated whenever.

You had hobbled your way to the couch, one of John’s large hoodies on with a pair of loose shorts. You sat down with little trouble as John came down the stairs with a blanket, laying it over your lap before sitting beside you to start the movie.

“You warm, Doll? Need anything? Water? Food? Another blanket?” He asked, concerned.